


NFWMB

by thecurlyginger



Category: The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (TV)
Genre: Anti-Joel, F/M, Rating more for language than anything but it's nothing more graphic/inappropriate than the show, Romance, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Very mild (non-graphic) violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24593719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecurlyginger/pseuds/thecurlyginger
Summary: Lenny reflects on one Mrs. Maisel and how much he absolutely deplores her ex-husband.
Relationships: Lenny Bruce & Miriam "Midge" Maisel, Lenny Bruce (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel)/Miriam "Midge" Maisel
Comments: 10
Kudos: 140





	NFWMB

**Author's Note:**

> Title and inspiration for this fic come from the Hozier song of the same name. I recommend you give it at listen, if only because it's a different sort of love song about recognizing your lover's power and strength. Enjoy!

Midge’s husband was a real shmuck, and as Lenny considered himself King of the Shmucks, he would know.

Just one minute into her stand-up, and the audience would know too that Mr. Maisel was objectively an asshole. The man cheated on his wife with his secretary, up and left his marriage, then dropped the secretary to try and get back with his wife.

At least when Lenny and Honey split, it was absolute. He didn’t call her again to bail him out and repressed any of his loneliness and what little remorse he had for their failed marriage with a stiff drink and his hand.

Midge deserved better. Standing on the stage in cocktail dresses so form-fitting Lenny thought she must have had some Upper West Side seamstress sew her into them every night, Midge won over crowds with an ease most comics would kill for. The only people who didn’t deem themselves fans were prudes (fuck ‘em) and male comedians with faces for radio.

Unfortunately, he encountered the latter often enough, watching with disdain as they paired a drink-ticket-cheap glass of bourbon with some lewd question of how Mrs. Maisel repaid Lenny Bruce for setting her up at the Gaslight.

“How is she in the morning?” Stan had asked him one night at the bar after performing a tired, mediocre set.

“I don’t know, probably just as funny after a cup of coffee,” Lenny responded plainly, feigning ignorance.

Midge didn’t need him to defend her honor, but if these clowns were going to insinuate something, Lenny wanted them to squirm under the pressure of having to spell it out.

They didn’t deserve sharing the stage with her, her husband didn’t deserve sharing the air with her, and Lenny sure as hell didn’t deserve being her confidant. Yet more often than once, he stood at the receiving end of her olive throwing and dating-life-yentering, congratulating her even as she bemused him.

He would never have the gall to say ‘I told you so’ to that woman (truthfully he knew better than to say that to _any_ Jewish woman), but when Midge revealed that the doctor was no longer in her life as she sat nursing a drink beside him before leaving on her big-shot tour with Shy Baldwin, Lenny found it difficult to hold his tongue. Hers was catching a drop of condensation on its way down her forearm, darting out between her perfectly full rouge red lips and making the conversation even more challenging.

“It’s not a life for everyone,” he offered instead, talking more into his whiskey than in her direction after that torturous display.

“The tour would have ended the engagement at some point anyway. I just… pulled the trigger early, I guess.”

 _Engagement?_ But Lenny knew whom he was talking to. The bombshell beside him could wag her left hand up in the air and a thousand guys would dig into their pockets for a ring to claim her. It was no surprise the one with a PhD figured that out too.

And here, Lenny was supposed to be the guy to be telling her it would all be okay. King of the Shmucks.

“Doesn’t get much easier with marriage.” Okay, maybe that was a bit self-loathing for what was meant to be their big, happy, show biz pep talk. Things were going better for him after the Steve Allen appearance, truth be told, but Lenny felt completely out of her league to discuss a European tour, let alone her love life.

Midge swiveled toward him, their knees touching. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and despite the fact that he had just finished a cigarette, he itched for another to quell the other urge that threatened to consume his thoughts. But when he drew his eyes up from her cream colored legs, he saw the depth of sadness in her gaze.

“Sometimes I think if I just eased Joel into the comedy thing, you know, just told him from the get-go—“

Lenny knew he was the last person to judge, knew he was the furthest from the prime example of a successful career in comedy and happy life, but he knew most of all that he shouldn’t have _scoffed_ at her confession.

Well, it was too late now.

“Midge, the guy fooled around while you were, what, twenty blocks away? Preparing his dinner, taking care of his kids, and loving the hell out of him? What would he do if you were in Europe, let alone Jersey?”

It didn’t take her weepy eyes to make him regret the starkness of his words, but they certainly didn’t help. He had seen her drunk and dripping wet in the back of a cop car, high and liberated behind the Vanguard, and nervous to the point of stuttering before going on stage. Still, nothing could have prepared for Lenny Bruce for the raw hurt that radiated off of Midge Maisel even a year after her ex-husband’s betrayal.

“Yeah,” was all she managed, taking a deep sip from her martini.

“But what do I know?” He shrugged, arms in the air for effect. “Sometimes I wish my marriage erupted from some huge rift instead of just two people painfully falling out of love and a night at the station feeling like a better option than going home.”

“The divorce is getting finalized before I go,” Midge said, likely to put an end to the two-guest pity party, before placing her small hand on his arm. “I’m not upset with you, but I’m not lofty either for wishing my life didn’t blow up.”

Lenny laughed at the audacity. “You think I don’t know that?” But if he was honest, and he would never tell her this because he couldn’t bear seeing her misty eyed because of him again, he’s glad her life did implode, if only because it placed her in his.

“I just wish it were easier. All of this. The politics of saying something on stage for laughs and going home to someone who doesn’t care that you’ve been out all night and thinks that what you do _has meaning_.”

If that wasn’t enough to get him going, to think that he would gladly be that person she came home to, sharing tales of their gigs, then fucking each other merrily into the sunrise… she then lit a smoke, taking a long drag before passing it over. Stained with her lipstick, it was a lifeline he inhaled, thinking this was the best foreplay he’d engaged in in years. Every brush of their fingers as they shared the cigarette threatened to knock him off his barstool, the air between them noticeably thicker each passing minute that they shared it, and even though they went home separately that night, Lenny knew he was in deep. He knew he wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ , let anyone fuck with her again.

Especially not her ex.

Miami must have been bestowed to Lenny by God himself as penance for that threat, maybe even for his time in the Navy, for the bloodshed he caused and played witness to. There could be no other explanation for the woman of his dreams to flit around him until the dark night sky shone blue again, entertaining his antics, fitting against him so perfectly, yet leaving his side before he could taste the heaven of her lips.

He berated himself for not explicitly asking her to come in, not because Midge was oblivious – the woman made a living sending crowds into fits of raucous laughter by talking about sex – but because she was a _good girl_. The type of girl who would blow you so hard you’d think your soul left your body too when you came, but who wanted to go out for dinner first.

They _did_ go out for dinner, but that was beside the point.

Because for all the things Lenny sat that night and many nights after that thinking about in varying states of sobriety, he knew the weight of her decision came from what he thought of her act. Midge thanked him for his praise like releasing a breath she’d been holding all evening, like what he had to say _mattered_.

For whatever reason, other comics cared for his feedback constantly, and depending on his mood, he’d either lay into them with honest criticism or pay them a polite compliment, hoping it came with a celebratory drink (on their tab, of course). Lenny wasn’t ignorant to why they did it, but couldn’t fathom what difference it made. He knew a shit act could rarely be redeemed, because a shit act came from a shit comic.

Midge wasn’t a shit comic. And Lenny knew that _she_ knew she wasn’t a shit comic. Their relationship stemmed from her blossoming comedy career and was strengthened by her tenacity to hone the craft. Her second arrest didn’t faze her, and she showed up to the Vanguard, desperate to take a new world in rather than lick her wounds north of 100th Street after her husband left her. That’s what made her a force to be reckoned with, what made it impossible for her to sneeze on stage somewhere without him hearing about it. What made it inevitable for the two of them to end up in the same dive bar after a shit day, week, life, whatever.

They were two people from the same big city, drawn together by some twist of fate but held together by their regard for one another. Midge knew Lenny respected her. She wasn’t some local Miami girl he could have some fun with then forget the second he stepped on the plane. They would run into each other again. He might even run into her father again, which was all sorts of fucking bizarre.

So if they were going to cross _that_ line that, like a New York City crosswalk, was more symbolic than anything, it wouldn’t be while they were crossing paths in a random city for one night - because he didn’t downplay her set. He didn’t jokingly tell her it was shit, didn’t offer to give her some pointers in his room. He told her it was sensational because… it was.

Midge knew better than to jeopardize their honesty and respect for one another like that. As much as Lenny felt her absence the second she walked away, he knew it too. She didn’t need to know the promise of “someday” fueled enough _self-reflection_ the last few months for his wrist to cramp more than it did when he was a teenage boy, how she looked at him or the smell of her perfume easy memories to conjure up even when she wasn’t mentioned in the paper with the temporary hiatus and push of Shy’s tour.

With his obligations in and around Miami lasting through to when Midge would now be only mid-way through the European leg, Lenny didn’t expect to see her for another three months.

He certainly didn’t expect upon his return to New York to hear from Stan, of all people, that she was not only in the city but a regular at a new club in Chinatown.

When Lenny made it down hoping to congratulate her, catch up with her, even just breathe next to her, he noted a sign plastered to the front advertising, “Mrs. Maisel – Thursday-Saturday’s!” Plural. It was a way’s from the Upper West Side but a good gig, so he thought until he paid the oddly clerical old lady at the front the cover and entered to catch not only the end of Midge’s set but a hell storm.

She sauntered off stage with confidence, exuding an air of sexy poise over the audience that threatened to knock Lenny off his feet. Midge caught sight of him almost the second she finished descending the stairs, taking long strides in her heels that made half the men eye him with envy, and within seconds, he was pulled into her warm embrace.

“What are you doing here?” Her warm breath brushing against his neck as she pulled away would be filed away in his thoughts for later, as would her casual closeness even after they no longer touched.

“I came to ask the same thing. What happened to the tour?”

Midge’s eyes went distant for a moment, signaling immediately that something had gone wrong. Susie, to his mild annoyance, approached the two of them as Midge murmured that it was a long story.

“This isn’t such a bad gig, though. Prime nights, prime time… How’d you score it?” Lenny asked just as a man joined their apparent assembly near the back.

So much for a private reunion.

“It’s _complicated_ ,” Midge gritted between her teeth, the air between everyone there thick. What the hell did he walk into?

The man shoved his hand toward Lenny with the grace of a bull in a china shop. “It’s an honor to meet you—“

“Oh fuck this, it’s not that complicated, Lenny,” Susie cut in with her usual refinement. “Midge got kicked of Shy’s tour for saying some shit she shouldn’t have in her act. As for her little _engagement_ here, this prick,” she gestured to the man who’s outstretched hand slowly lowered with a hint of guilt, “screwed her over years ago when they first got married by crying poor to his daddy unbeknownst to her so they could live it up in their palace uptown.”

Midge held her hand up. “Could you please not call him ‘Daddy’?”

“ _Daddy_ then took away the apartment after the split. Midge thought she had it made with Shy, tried to buy the apartment back, but when shit hit the fan and we ended up back in the city, Daddy agreed to let her keep it until another big contract comes along so long as she draws in the crowds at his son’s new joint at the discounted price of free.”

Midge looked like she was about to kill her manager, but Lenny was too busy eying down Mr. Maisel.

“Outside, _now_ ,” he hissed, leaning close to the man seriously vying for his aforementioned royal title to avoid drawing any attention from the audience.

A crowd of witnesses meant trouble with the police, but more importantly, for Midge’s reputation. She didn’t need the circuit talking about two men brawling it out for her honor, and though Lenny’s intentions were just to tell the guy off, the sight of Joel Maisel’s slicked back hair (God, he _looked_ like a shmuck too) and word of his blatant self-interest was enough to make his blood boil.

Lenny lit a cigarette as he made his way out the door and around to the alley, not caring to turn around to make sure Maisel didn’t weasel his way out of the altercation. After inhaling, he left the cigarette between his lips to control his exhale, taking the moment to filter out what to say to the man he loathed for nearly two years now without even meeting him. By the time he and Joel took their stance, the latter’s chest puffed and arms loose with indication of having had some experience with joining someone outside before, Midge and Susie had caught up but were keeping their distance.

“What? You think Midge needs you to speak up for her? This is a family matter that doesn’t concern—“

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Lenny interrupted, removing the smoke from his mouth to flick away the ash without any regard of its potential to hit Joel’s bullshit suit displaying his bullshit attempt to be someone. “Now you may be asking yourself, ‘What is Lenny referring to when he calls me an asshole because there’s just so many examples,’ so I’m going to be _very_ clear. You had the perfect wife, and you left her. Shitty, but okay. She was willing to take you back even after all that, but you couldn’t handle the thought of her making light of the hell you brought down on her for some laughs. Extremely shitty, but okay, I’ll let that one slide.”

He saw Midge’s lips press together and her brow furrow, her stance ready to intervene. Meanwhile, Susie looked like she was eating it up, as Joel just clenched his hands at his side, unable to argue with him. Good.

“But now you’re exploiting her to help your own fucking career while pushing the breaks on hers. That, I don’t hold with.”

Joel turned, gesturing in Midge’s direction. “It’s temporary, pal. Besides, she plays a stage, she gets seen, she gets laughs!”

“But she doesn’t get _paid_ , and she misses playing elsewhere on good, weekend nights! If you were a man, you’d buy that apartment yourself for her and your children as recompense for the years she wasted with you,” Lenny bit out before having to narrowly dodge Joel’s fist.

Sidestepping, he connected his own fist with Joel’s jaw, Midge’s protest echoing loudly despite the honks of Chinatown traffic behind her. She rushed in but Lenny had already stepped back, holding his hands up in truce while shaking out the one throbbing with pain. He wasn’t sure what he expected her to do but watched on as she only looked over Joel for excessive bodily harm before stepping back, feet planted between him and Lenny.

Susie approached Lenny with a thoughtful look, gesturing for him to bring his hand down so she could check it. Midge caught sight of that before joining his side too, her hands shaking in front of her.

“We’ll talk about this later, Midge,” Joel said in a deflated tone before heading back toward the entrance.

Lenny caught her silent nod before she turned back to him, conflict distorting her face. “Do I need to worry about that?” He asked quietly, wincing as Susie prodded his bruised knuckle for the umpteenth time before he pulled it away from her unhelpful ministrations.

“No,” Midge answered. “He’s civil with me.”

Even Susie held her tongue in the tense silence that followed before finally telling Midge to catch up with her at the Gaslight, leaving the two of them alone after a pointed look at Lenny. Midge took her right palm and lifted his gently to take a closer look at the damage under the dim streetlight.

Finally, she broke the silence. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Probably not,” Lenny shrugged, “but I had to.”

A gust of wind picked up, sending a chill and the unpleasant scent from sitting alley trash water through. He shrugged himself out of his coat, tenderly shedding it from his bruised hand, before placing it on her shoulders. Lenny couldn’t stand seeing her cold, almost as much as he couldn’t stand the thought of her refusing to talk to him again after his display of violence, but if he had to walk away from Midge, defending her from her truly loathsome ex would be the way to go.

She looked up at him, those glassy eyes squinting ever so slightly in thought. Her heels clacked against the pavement as she took one step closer to him, then one more, until her hands rested on his shoulders and she pressed her lips against his. Momentarily stunned, Lenny had to remind his damn arms to move and reached them around her as he kissed her back. Midge’s lips could form words that set off a room, words that would make a sailor blush, but they did nothing so well as send his heart racing.

When they broke the kiss, their bodies still achingly close in the empty alley, Lenny couldn’t contain the ridiculous smile that broke out on his face. Pulling his coat closer around her, his hands on the lapels securing her rightful place with him, he stated matter-of-factly, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I had to,” was all Midge said before kissing him again, the stinging in his hand _oh so_ worth her knowing she deserved more, and maybe he could be the one to give it to her.

**Author's Note:**

> "NFWMB" by Hozier came on the other day while I was writing my last fic and inspired me to write from Lenny's perspective a vow to protect Midge, who he knows doesn't really need his protecting ("Nothing fucks with my baby"). I was struggling with his POV (strangely enough the joking dialogue is easier for me than how he might look at Midge or a situation), but when I received such a warm response posting "Sweet Vermouth," I pushed through until I got... whatever this is. 
> 
> I know it's very anti-Joel, but I'm kinda anti-Joel. I tried to frame it through an outsider's, albeit biased, opinion so it didn't just feel like Lenny was shitting on the dude without cause. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be thinking of what next to write about with these two characters.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, for your support, your kudos, your everything thus far!


End file.
